464. Walk and talk

I am exhausted and my head is buzzing. Like a hundred bees are in there looking for something that simply is not there. I need a walk. Luckily I have a dog. And a husband. They're both at home when I het there and so I take them both for a long walk.

We're across the foot bridge and on the grassy bit along the canal. It looks lovely this time of year because they mow the grass leaving areas of tall grass and wild flowers. This year they have had some fun cutting winding paths amongst the trees. At last I can start to breather normally. And vent all my frustrations into the waters of the canal, up the chestnut trees in full bloom and away with the North Sea winds.

'So how was it?' My husband asks. He is also a very useful outlet to express my exasperation and despair. And no, the word is not too strong.

'Do you really want to know?'

'Of course!'

I think he does, really, he's always bit a bit of a gossip. That's where Miss Organiser gets it.

It's going to be the long walk then.

'So we start late. As usual. It was supposed to be 4 but it is at least 10 minutes past when we start. And we start slow. First there's no coffee, no biscuits, no water. The poor man's meeting.'

'Mmmmm.' My husband mumbles something about the lack of coffee but I'm on track now and there's no stopping me. A bit like right now when am writing. 

'Then we have to move all the tables and chairs so that we have a more user-friendly group arrangement. So we can throw stuff like bits of rubber at each other. Then we sit down and Mr the Inspector is here. Definitely not the man that takes the room over by his mere presence. See what I mean? Quite short, and he wears these round glasses that do not make him look very serious - with the round face you know. Too much roundness, too much plumpness. Not enough sharp angles.

...

And of course the mustard trousers.'

'Mustard trousers?!! But that is so French.'

My husband is horrified. He thinks French people do not know how to dress for work. They only know how to dress for the weekend.

'That was French. Like 6 years ago! At least! And that is casual dress. I mean this is Tuesday, second day of the week.'

'Yeah, you're right. That's bad.'

'And of course he has a slideshow. I mean that's so old school too. His at least. You know the boring slides with just stuff written on it, and link written out right from the http all the way to the end of the second line! Not even a chip or something cool. I mean ... like like we are supposed to teach kids to do things and HE is supposed to teach us!'

Am getting all agitated now. It is like in the meeting all over again, except now I have someone to talk to. And that person is even listening to me!

'I mean, do you see where I'm getting at?'

'Yes, of course I do. This is just incredible.' 

He shakes his head. I think he knows this is not the right time to disagree with me. I'm thinking I could try knitting during these meetings. Counting the stitches would keep my mind occupied.

'You know, and then he goes on about how he is not here as the person who controls and verifies and judges and comments bla bla bla. Like he is here as the cool guy just to have a chat! I mean and the guy is paid for this, to come as a nice guy who has nothing to teach us, he goes on just to listen to you and you can share stuff with me. LIKE WE'RE ON FACEBOOK or something. And that ugly slide up there with two titles in bold black letters. I thought I was going to have to excuse myself and leave.'

The dog wants to poop. So we stop and I let my husband do the dirty work. And so I have to stop talking and take in the fresh air and the shy sun. 

Once the poop is in the bin I am off again. We're about half way through our walk. I need to stop and keep some for tomorrow. We need to finish the walk with some talk about HIS (new) work. And also about stuff like food, drink, kids, travels, ...

Then one of the slide is the three types of testing: diagnostic, formative and summative.'

My husband looks at me as if I have two heads. Then he raises his eyes to the sky. But I keep going.

'Well and it's as if we are the kids and he is the teacher and he is asking us what does this mean (I put on a silly voice at this point) and no-one is answering. You don't know what it is because you have forgotten or you've never known or you don't care or you just don't want to look stupid. On top of that the head is here and so is the assistant head. Anyway after a while I can't take anymore or this and I say well it's like going to the doctor's, first you get checked to get a diagnostic then he knows what's wrong with you and gives you medicine to make you better and then they check again to see if it has worked or not. Easy! Big silence. I can sense the threatening look from the head but I don't care. The inspector says it's one way to put it and no-one else says anything and we move on to the 'grille de correction' and we are in pairs and we have to do the exercice. This is insane.'

Thank goodness we are walking or I'd think my husband asleep. I look at him.

'Yes, no - it's crazy. I don't know how you can put up with all that. I couldn't.'

'Well I can't!!! That's my problem! And no-one cracks a joke or laughs. It's so depressing. Only the colleague next to me said he was cute. Cute-nice. Not cute-Jude Law.'

Then we have reached the bit where Ralph the dog rolls around in the spring flowers and tall grasses and we switch to another less taxing subject: the weekend. Thank goodness for weekends.